


just call when you're around

by itisjosh



Series: onlypain [48]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, No Dialogue, Old Friends, Past Character Death, Past Violence, Phil Watson-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & Phil Watson Friendship (Video Blogging RPF), Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29146542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itisjosh/pseuds/itisjosh
Summary: Phil walks through Hell and snow to reach his home, to finally be free.
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: onlypain [48]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027711
Comments: 7
Kudos: 183





	just call when you're around

Phil never thought that he would escape a nation that his sons used to call their home. He grips his ankle monitor, prying and pulling at the metal until his fingers go numb, bloodied hands working at his escape. He closes his eyes, humming a soft lullaby as he works, one he used to sing to Wilbur when he was younger. Phil feels the metal click, breathing out a sigh of relief when some of it breaks off, hitting the ground. He keeps working away at the monitor, trying to imagine himself somewhere else, trying to imagine himself as someone else. It would be so much easier if he wasn't here, his entire life would be easier if he had just died in that explosion. 

If he had died, Phil thinks, Wilbur would have lived. There's a reason that Wilbur asked Phil to kill him. If he had just died in that explosion, Wilbur wouldn't have done it. He would have lived, albeit guiltily, but he would have _lived_ , and that's all that's important. Phil shouldn't have agreed to Wilbur's pleas, he should have kept his son alive. But it's too late to change the past, he can only work ahead, he can only fix the future before it's too late. Phil opens his eyes, listening as another piece of metal clanks to the floor, blood staining his foot and the ground. He can't feel it anymore, his fingers have gone entirely numb, and he figures that it's for the best. Phil keeps working, slipping his fingers behind the monitor, prying it off from the other side. 

He hears a click, a snap, and a thud. The monitor lays on the ground in front of him, bloodied and twisted, but off. Phil lets out a sigh, an exhausted smile gracing his face as he stands up on trembling legs. He reaches for a towel, wiping off his blood-soaked hands on the fabric. He tosses it to the ground next to the piece of broken metal, feeling the remnants of his wings spreading outwards. As if kidnapping him from his friend's house and planting a tracker on him wasn't enough, Tubbo was convinced to let Quackity and Fundy try to mutilate his wings.

More so than they already had been. The explosion rendered him flightless, every movement he made sending pain shooting through his entire body. His nerves weren't damaged around his back or around his wings, so Phil was allowed to feel the pain, the hurt. He doesn't remember the last time that he slept for more than an hour or two at a time, he can't remember a time where he didn't wake up screaming in agony or grief. At least being woken up by his pain keeps him from dreaming. It keeps away his nightmares, all of them which include Wilbur, laying there. His body broken and battered and seared, scorched by fire and desperation. His words ring in Phil's head constantly, the simplicity of them too overwhelming. They weren't his last. His last words were quiet apologies and confessions of what he had done, finished by Wilbur telling Phil that he loved him, that he would miss him. 

Phil lets out a shuddering breath, the pain in his fingers starting to return, the numbness he feels throughout his entire body slowly starting to fade. That's his cue to leave, he thinks. Phil looks around at what he has in this house, in his prison, and he decides that he has nothing worth keeping. He looks at chests that line the walls, the half-hidden ladder that leads down to his basement, where he spent most of his time trying to find a way to get away from this hellhole of a nation, this place where he lost everything important to him. Maybe not everything, he thinks. He still has Techno, he still has his old friend. Even if Techno doesn't consider Phil his father, Phil can't help but look at Techno and think of him as a son. After all that they've been through together, Phil thinks that his thoughts are justified, though he would never admit them out loud. 

He pushes open the door that leads to the outside, stepping out of his house for the first time in months. The sky is dark, tinted with a light fog that blurs his vision. Phil looks from side to side, careful to make sure that there's no one around, that no one will try to throw him back in his house. Phil would kill them, he wouldn't stop fighting until he was dead. He didn't last time out of fear that something would happen to Techno, that they would go back on their word, which they fucking did anyways, and kill him. He should have taken the opportunity to put his sword through Quackity and Fundy's chests, he should have made them watch each other die. 

He shouldn't have been so scared. Phil supposes that he can't blame himself for the fear he felt that day - he would have never forgiven himself if him fighting back cost Techno his life. He's grateful that Techno managed to escape, that he managed to get away and survive his execution. Phil breathes out, watching as a puff of fog follows. He starts to move, letting his wings droop to the ground, folding them back as best as he can. He's never been one of the lucky ones, he can't hide his wings. They're constantly out for the world to see, to see how mutilated and disgusting and repulsive they are. 

People told him that his wings were gorgeous, once. That his black feathers were something to be jealous of, something to be _proud_ of. Phil flaunted his wings and laughed and flew everywhere, soaring into the sky and staying there as long as he could. He stopped walking places after his friends told him that he should fly, and he listened to them. He remembers the way the wind hit his face, ruining his combed hair. Phil was told that he was a prodigy, that he was one of the luckiest people alive. He believed them until he threw himself in front of Wilbur, refusing to let his son die to the blast. He spread his wings out, trying to shield his son, and it worked. 

At the expense of Phil's wings and his freedom, Wilbur got to live for another five minutes. 

Phil looks away from the spot where Wilbur died, able to see it from his house. Tubbo can redesign L'manberg as much as he wants. He can put up buildings and streets and shops, he can try to hide the nation's history, but Phil will always remember. He will always remember that Tubbo had ordered that his wings be clipped, that he ordered Phil to sit in his home, trapped, to deal with the pain of his mutilated wings, _alone_. Tubbo might be a kid, but the things that he did were cruel. Phil can never forgive him for that. He won't, he'll never forgive the so-called President of L'manberg for what he did to him and to Techno, to his friends and family. 

Phil drags himself along the wooden pathway, careful to not make a noise. He can see the Nether portal up ahead, he can see the dim purple light that emits from it. Phil keeps walking, refusing to look back. His sword feels heavy on his hip, and _god_ , how he wishes that he could fly. He wishes that his wings weren't broken and damaged and awful. If he could fly, he could have taken Wilbur and Techno away from this place, he could have gotten Tommy and Tubbo. He could have taken them all away from this place, he could have saved them. Phil could have saved himself, but it's far, far too late for that. He drags his feet along the ground, his ankle sore and pulsing with pain with every step that he takes. 

He glances over his shoulder for half a second, not seeing any lights on in any houses. He assumes that everyone is sleeping. Even if they woke up, Phil thinks that he could escape. He would be able to lose them in the Nether, he'd be able to disappear there. As much as his wings hurt, as much as they cause him to cry out in pain and agony with every movement they make, Phil can fly. He thinks that he would collapse, he thinks that he might die if he soars for too long, but he can fly. His wings may be broken and mutilated, but if he has to escape, he can make himself fly again. Phil thinks that he might rather fucking die than have to go through the crippling pain flying would surely bring him, but he would do it. He'd face it head on, and he would leave. He would free himself, if only to die a few moments later. It would be worth it. 

He keeps walking until he reaches the Nether portal, staring at the entrance. Phil breathes in, closing his eyes as he steps into the portal, feeling his world warp and spin around him. He feels his stomach lurch, his heart leaping up to his throat. Phil breathes out, opening his eyes. The scenery has shifted, turning red and dull white, golden highlights laced within the red. He stumbles out of the portal, barely managing to catch himself. Phil feels his wings instinctually flap behind him, spreading out to soar above the lava lakes and monsters who live here. He bites back a cry of pain, forcing his wings to fold back in on themselves, wishing that he was better at not feeling pain, at not giving into it. 

Phil stares down at the pools of lava, careful to watch where he walks, refusing to make any mistakes in his steps. One miscalculated foot placement and he'll fall into the depths of Hell, he'll die immediately. The lava will scorch his flesh, and Phil won't be able to fly away. He'll never be able to say goodbye to Techno. Phil breathes out, wondering if he could fly up even with his wings damaged as badly as they are. He doubts it, and he isn't about to test it to find out. He keeps walking, occasionally looking back towards the portal, careful to continuously keep his footsteps silent. Phil makes sure to avoid the sand that litters the area, so he doesn't leave footprints there. 

He refuses to be tracked. Phil would rather die right now than lead them straight to Techno's home. He isn't going to do that to his friend, to his sort-of son. Phil is not going to let himself be more important than someone who deserves to live more than anyone else that Phil can think of. Techno may not be the sweetest person, he's hard to understand and he's even more difficult to get to know, but that's not important. He's too trusting and too loyal, filled with hope and never giving up on the people that he loves, the people he's decided to protect. Technoblade deserves better. He deserves so much more than the world has ever been able to offer him, and Phil is going to do his goddamn best to make sure Techno understands that. 

Phil walks through Hell, through the Nether. Soot sticks in the back of his throat, threatening to strangle him. He resists the urge to cough every few seconds, clutching at his chest when he inhales right as a cloud of ash and smoke pass him by. It fills his lungs, swirling in the bottom of them, choking him. Phil breathes in and out, a repeated rhythm that he once taught Wilbur. He stabilizes himself quickly enough, continue to move along the scorched earth. Phil used to wonder about the Nether, he used to love coming out here and trying to find out what the hell happened to this place. 

Now, all he wants to do is escape this place. Phil looks over his shoulder again, pausing when he does. He's not going to accidentally walk into lava, he refuses to do anything fucking stupid. Phil knows better, he knows how to survive. He knows how to live throughout everything, and he'll be damned if a brief moment of idiocy costs him his life. Phil turns back, continuing to walk once his eyes stare back at the ground ahead of him, carefully scanning it for any sign of weak rocks. He feels the heat start to suffocate him, and as much as he'd love to take off his armour, Phil knows that would be a death sentence. He can boil alive for another couple of minutes if it means he gets to live another few years. It's the easy choice to make. 

He smiles when he sees the portal ahead of him, one hidden by rubble and half-broken. Phil feels a sob lodge in the back of his throat, and he forces himself to not cry, he forces himself to keep walking, ignoring the happiness that stirs in his chest. The sight of that simple portal is enough to break him, and Phil wonders if it would be the same for Techno. He assumes that it probably would be. Phil all but runs to the portal, gliding over the netherrack and quartz, nearly throwing himself into that portal that stands alone in the middle of Hell, unwavering, bold and proud and strong. It's perfect, it's everything that Phil wishes he still was. He remembers a time where he could call himself strong. That time has long since passed.

Phil gasps as cold air hits the back of his throat, wind whipping at his face. He feels snow, he feels his hands go numb again, and he barely realises that he's fallen out of the portal. Phil shoves himself off the ground, knowing better than to lay there and try to work things out. He breathes in, a tired smile curving his lips. He's home, Phil thinks. Not quite home, but he's close enough to it. The frigid air is more than enough to make him feel safe, and he wonders when he started to associate the cold with being safe, with being at home. Phil walks through the snow, quietly wishing that it wasn't snowing, the flakes weighing down his wings. 

He wanders throughout the snow banks, dragging his wings along the ground as he walks. Phil trudges in the snow, hissing when his wings get caught on rocks and stray pieces of broken glass. He keeps walking, he keeps moving, keeps going. He's so close, he's only another hour or so away from home. If he had his wings, he would be there right now. If it wasn't blizzarding, Phil would be at the front of Techno's house in twenty minutes, maybe less. Phil shakes his head, holding himself stronger. He powers through, the wind threatening to knock him down, numbing his face and his ears, freezing over his bleeding heart. He's freezing, he wants to drop to the ground and let the snow wash over him, he wants to lay down and sop into the ground, tearing up pieces of earth, but he doesn't.

Phil keeps walking. He walks through the snow, feeling his body continue to go numb, continuing to shut down. He's done too much after months of doing nothing. He's going to die if he doesn't stop soon, the sudden environment change is always difficult to go through, but especially after he hasn't been to either place in so long. Traveling through the Nether over and over again desensitizes a person from the whiplash they get when they leave that portal, but Phil hasn't been through a portal in so long, his body has forgotten what it feels like. His body has forgotten how to survive, how to function like this. He's not going to let that stop him, Phil absolutely refuses to let himself be bested by the cold, all because his stupid fucking body refuses to cooperate with him. He is not going to die now. He isn't going to give up, he will not die. He has gotten too close, _far_ too close, to lay down and let his life end. Phil is not going to let that happen. 

He sees smoke on the horizon, though it's difficult to see through the snow that sticks to his eyelashes. Phil can see dim orange lights, and he lets out a strangled, choked sob of relief, though no tears fall. He's stopped crying, he stopped crying a long time ago. Phil has long since shed his last tear, but just seeing Techno's house, lit up and standing, is nearly enough to bring him to his knees. He feels his wings get heavier and heavier the more snow clings to them, but he can't lift them. Phil can barely lift them normally, but they're so weighted down that Phil thinks that they might just freeze over before he can manage to get them off of the ground. That's alright, he thinks to himself. It isn't like he'll ever use them again.

He moves to the orange lights, exhaustion lacing his every movement. Phil stumbles far too many times, but he keeps going. The house gets closer and closer and closer to him until it's right in front of him, looming above and over him. Phil nearly collapses on the stairs, nearly dragging himself up onto the porch. He reaches out, knocking at the door, three times in a pattern, like Techno always used to do whenever he would visit. It's a pattern, it's something to recognise each other by. 

Phil watches the door swing open, taking half a step back. Techno stares at him, his eyes widening, concern shining in them. His mouth opens and closes, something like disbelief mixed with joy overtaking his features. Techno doesn't say anything, and neither does Phil - they don't have to. They're two tired old war veterans, neither of them have ever really needed to verbally communicate with the other. They've learnt how to speak with their eyes and hands and bodies, and it works. Phil raises his eyebrows at his friend, _are you going to let me in?_ Techno offers a smile in return. 

He steps aside. 

Phil walks into Techno's home, _their_ home, listening as Techno closes the door. He turns back around, opening his arms. As soon as he does, Techno is hugging him, resting his head on top of Phil's. They still don't say anything, and that's perfectly fine with Phil. 

He doesn't know how long that they stay there, and he doesn't really care. Phil thinks that he could stay there hugging Techno for years, and it still probably wouldn't be enough time. They've had so much taken from themselves that being able to hold each other is a fleeting blessing that Phil intends to cling onto. 

Phil is only certain that he's home, he's free, and that he has his best friend with him, by his side again. 

It was all worth it, he thinks. 

All of it was worth it.


End file.
